


Pressed Flowers

by NaughtyBees



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Fluff, Gift Giving, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Pocket Pat AU, World War II, borrower au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-31 20:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: It's world war two, and The Captain is stressed almost every day. After little gifts are left on his desk for months, he decides to try catch his admirer in the act.However, the perpetrator is a little different than he first expected.





	1. Forget-Me-Not

Another day. Each one seemed to grate on him now. Another death, another report, the faceless names, the MIAs, day in, day out. He couldn’t take it. Lithe fingers grazed across the smooth cover of the book and he cracked it, peering inside. Secured with tape to each page were rows upon rows of tiny pressed flowers. Each had been left in his desk, at least three times a week. Nobody had seen anyone entering his office. The door was locked. It was as though a ghost were leaving them, although that would've been silly. 

Gently replacing the book on his desk, The Captain stood with a wince, pushing his chair in before moving to go to lunch. He liked a long lunch. This time, however, he had other plans. 

oOo

It was a simple enough venture. Wait until he was out, place the flower and leave. A forget-me-not this time, one that he'd made sure was perfectly dried. He'd leave it for The Captain in an obvious place, as per usual. 

Hard to do when you weren't even as tall as a human finger, but that didn't stop him. Despite being quite portly, Pat was small enough to be able to climb a rope with only a little effort, sweat beading at his forehead as he climbed ever higher, wishing he'd brought his pack so he could have some water. Around halfway up, he thought he might fall, but he held tight to the rope, panting softly. He couldn't turn back now. 

As shaking hands hoisted him up over the dark wood ledge, Pat laid on his back, panting and wiping his forehead. A good workout never hurt, and he was no stranger to this, having done it a few times a week for at least a year. 

He loved The Captain's office. Sure, the whole place was good, but here was quiet. Here he could live without fear of being disturbed.  
Pat had been living in the wall for around four years. The Captain had had his office for three of those. During that time, Pat had developed quite a fondness for the human, after watching him every day. The way he sang when he thought nobody could hear, his quiet chuckles in response to his own jokes, how he called a moth he let outside 'my good little fellow'. He was reserved, and added no unnecessary beration to any orders given to those who ranked less than he.  
The Captain did have off days. During those days, where he held his head, or ground his teeth, or held his stick too tightly, he would find a pressed flower waiting for him. Always one, always small, always pressed with a tender care. 

As Pat caught his breath in the middle of the desk, he could almost hear his mother scolding him. 'Be careful, Patrick! Don't ever let the humans see you! They'll squash you like they did Uncle Bill, drown you like they did Aunt Liz, burn you like they did Cousin Craig, even skin you alive! They only know how to destroy and that's what they'll do to you if you let them see you!'  
He had no idea if all humans were actually really like that, but when you could be crushed underfoot without being noticed, it wasn't feasible to test it out.  
The desk was very neat, and Pat appreciated that as he walked past a house sized stack of paper, stepping over the sleek, black log of a pen, and toward the middle of the desk. 

As he set down the flower, he made sure it was laid out perfectly, smiling as he straightened up a little.  
As he turned to leave, he spied something that caught his eye. A paper bag of sweets. It had been so long since he'd had sweets, especially with rationing, but there was no way he could get through the wrapping. Thinking on his feet, he immediately tied his rope to the bag and began to push it toward the edge with all his might. If he dropped it, with any luck the bag would split and he could make off with one of the toffees within. 

With one last push, the bag fell, dangling from the rope. Pat waited for the bag to split, for a sweet or two to be released so he could run off with one. 

Snap. 

"No… No! NO!" Pat's blood ran ice cold as he held the frayed end of the rope in his hand, looking down at the floor far, far below at the rest of the coil. He was stuck. Stranded on the desk with no hope of escape. Even a jump to the chair would certainly kill him instantly. He didn't even have time to find something to hide behind before he felt a minute tremor.  
"Oh, God…" He hoped it might be a one off, until then came another. And another. And another. Each one getting louder and more violent, Pat having to bend his knees so he didn't fall over. 

The door unlocked with a click and Pat froze with fear, eyes wide as the colossal figure moved into the room, displacing the air so much that Pat's hair was blown back. He was rooted to the spot, eyes wide as the door was closed, the Captain taking a cursory glance to see if he'd caught his admirer, before sighing and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips when he spied the empty room. His mumbling was loud but distorted, his expression weary. Pat would've been tempted to ask if he was okay if he wasn't fearing for his life. Coming to his senses, Pat unhooked his grappling hook and ran as fast as he could, his heart in his throat as he leapt into the pen pot, crouched as low as the space given would allow. 

"Odd." The Captain mumbled as he looked at the fallen sweet packet, a thin thread fastening the top. "I wonder…" His voice was like thunder, vibrating in Pat's chest as he listened to the crumple of paper, the bag being picked up. The thump of The Captain seating himself made Pat begin to tremble violently. He couldn't be seen. Breath sat in his lungs like clotted cream, his pulse twitching in his periphery as he stuffed his hand into his mouth to muffle his whimpers, praying to anyone who would listen that he wouldn't be discovered. 

"Oh!" The dull, sad tone that The Captain had held earlier was replaced with mild surprise, and Pat, only for a second, forgot his fear. He'd never seen The Captain actually look at his flowers before, and he ventured to peek. 

The Captain was somehow even more colossal up close, filling all of Pat's vision. But that smile. The crinkle of his eyes as he picked up the tiny flower, inspecting it closely with a pleased hum. As he reached for his book to add it to the collection, Pat flinched and sat back in his pen pot, clutching his knees close to himself  
He was well and truly trapped here. There was absolutely no way he could climb down, jumping was out of the question… He supposed he could wait for The Captain to leave something vaguely string-like for him to use, but that could take weeks. 

It was half an hour before Pat dared another glance. The Captain's head was bowed, mouth open slightly as he snoozed. Pat couldn't help the flutter in his chest. He deserved a nap, and Pat was happy for him. Especially as it meant he had a chance to look for an escape. 

Hopping from the pen pot, Pat crept along carefully, keeping something between him and The Captain's line of sight at all times, just in case. As he looked at a tray of paperclips, he thought he might make a chain. However, it would take a very long time, and time was something he didn't have. He looked around the table, tapping his chin. He noticed the bag of sweets, still with the string tied around it. The knot would be almost impossible to untie, and the crinkle noises would most certainly awake The Captain. The second option, however, was even more daring. Pat felt almost dirty for thinking of crawling into The Captain's sleeve and trying to work his way to the ground like some kind of hamster. 

He moved to the side of the desk to judge the distance. Too far. He felt a little sick. Pull yourself together, Patrick! 

As Pat was still staring at the carpet with perplexion, The Captain grunted and yawned. Pat turned with a start, eyes wide as The Captain awoke, a double take proving he'd seen the tiny man. There was a beat, Pat too terrified to run, the Captain too shocked to move. After just a moment, Pat turned to flee, finally in control of his legs again. 

The Captain towered above him like a building in his own right, a look of bewilderment still on his face. That wasn't what frightened Pat the most. It was a hand, colossal in proportions, looming over him like death itself, casting him in dark shadow. He whimpered, sweat running down his back as he sprinted away, knowing there was no chance now. A hand slammed down in front of him, wider than he was tall, and he skidded to stop, squeaking as he touched the wide palm, hearing a soft intake of breath from above. The fingers began to curl. Pat yelped, only just managing to get out of the way of those grasping fingers in time. He panted heavily as he ran toward the almost-safety of the stationary at the back of the desk. As another grasp attempt sent him off-kilter, he adjusted his course. 

Before he could run any further, a loud _thunk_ made him flinch, his ears popping as he fell to his knees. His whimper echoed and he looked at the wall of shiny glass between him and the rest of the world. He didn't dare turn around. The burn of eyes boring into him made him shiver, and his shoulders shook with sobs as he trembled with terror. A million scenarios ran through his head, and he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling queasy. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. 

Pat didn't know if it had been seconds or minutes, but he eventually resigned himself to look up, the pressure being too much for him. As he turned, he felt bile rise in his throat. Two eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at him with pure bewilderment, the pure blue that Pat had dreamed about. He began to hyperventilate, wondering how he'd be killed. Was he to be suffocated in the glass? Drowned in it? Simply thrown to a cat? His stomach clenched and he felt faint. 

The Captain's eyes and mouth were wide. He didn't know how long he'd been staring, but it was all so surreal. This tiny man (if he was indeed a tiny man) had been leaving him flowers on his bad days. Which meant he was always watching. Which meant he knew sensitive intelligence. It also meant he seemed to care about him. These thoughts came to him one by one, making him struggle to think of what he should do.  
The thing that snapped him out of it was the tiny man standing and throwing himself against the side of the glass.

Pat banged his fists against the glass desperately. If he had any chance at all of escape, he had to take it. A voice suddenly echoed through the glass, like the voice of a god, booming, his ears aching. 

"Don't worry, my good little fellow." The Captain said, and Pat felt a twinge of joy in his heart that he'd been called that. "I shan't hurt you, don't worry." As Pat turned to look at those eyes, he saw the crinkle of a smile and felt a lump form in his throat.  
"I'm going to lift the glass now. But don't run, alright? We can talk about this like gentlemen." Pat realised he was waiting for a response and promptly nodded. 

The glass was lifted, a cool draught surrounding him, and he took a breath. Then he was off. The Captain frowned as the tiny man fled, looking over his shoulder.  
Pat suddenly yelped as the polished table disappeared from underneath him. His stomach lurched as he fell off the edge, screaming and he plummeted to certain death far far below. He closed his eyes tight so he wouldn't see it coming. 

A soft, warm, springy surface beneath him brought his momentum to a stop, and he squeaked, looking around frantically. Fingers as long as he was curled above his head protectively, and he began to panic as he realised where he was. The Captain had his life, literally, in his hands, and Pat felt as though he might faint. Just one of his fingers could easily put an end to him, and his trembles resumed, his chest heaving with panicked breaths as he stared up at The Captain with wide eyes. He was trapped. 

How petrified the tiny man was made The Captain frown, a deep crease in his brow. "Oh, I'm sorry… I suppose I was so caught up in how impossible you are, I didn't think about how monstrous I must look."  
Selfish of him, he supposed, to want to keep this tiny man around when he was his own person, with his own business. The Captain stood with a crackle of joints, grunting in pain. He straightened up and moved toward the bookshelf, the tiny man grasping onto his thumb with both hands for security. Oh, that was sweet. 

"Oh, thank you very much for the flowers, by the way." The Captain smiled as he paused. "They always brighten my day. You're very thoughtful, little one." 

Pat didn't know if the thump of his heart was fear or affection, so he decided on both. As The Captain leant down with some difficulty, he set his hand on the carpet, fingers unfurling to give the tiny man space to leave. He looked up at The Captain with wide eyes, still holding onto his thumb, blinking a little.  
"Go on. I won't step on you or anything." The Captain assured, not wanting to be seen as a monster by the little man. 

Taking a breath, Pat leapt from the huge hand and kept running as he hit the floor, skirting around the back of the bookshelf and deep into the walls of the office, his heart feeling as though it may burst. 

"Thank you again!" The Captain called as he stood up, his back twinging a little. 

oOo

It had been a week. No flowers. The Captain had decided that the tiny man had left. He would too, if subjected to the sort of torment he'd unwittingly put him through. Once again, the days became hard and monotonous, a struggle to keep on keeping on. As he came back from lunch on the afternoon of the eighth day since he'd seen the tiny man, he scratched his neck, sighing as he walked to his seat. 

There, in the middle of his desk, bright as anything, was a gorgeous morning glory, perfectly pressed as always. His grin hurt his face and he picked it up carefully, inspecting it. Laid below the flower, however, was a small scrap of paper. Lifting it to his eyes, The Captain squinted to make out the words scribbled upon it, his face softening once he did. 

_'You're welcome. Love, Pat.'_


	2. Buttercup

A buttercup today. The Captain had invested in a magnifying glass, purely so he could read the odd little note he found along with his flowers. 

_'You dropped a pen behind the cabinet. Couldn't lift it onto the desk so I left it by your chair. Pat x'_

Sure enough, The Captain's favourite pen was by his chair leg. He picked it up with a little smile, holding it between two fingers. .

“...I’m not sure if you can hear me… I feel a little silly talking to myself like this, but I hope you’re listening.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little. “I swear I won’t do anything to harm you. Whether or not you choose to come out, I don’t mind either way.” Looking at the flower and the note, he smiled and began to stick them in his special book. “Although I would like to formally meet you, Pat.” The thought of a tiny man to keep him company tickled him and he scratched his moustache with the end of his pen, imagining how pleasant the company would be. “Also, if there’s anything you need, make sure to let me know. I realise gathering supplies might be rather difficult at your stature.”

That’s where the conversation ended. One sided, but that was alright. The Captain wasn’t about to put his own feelings above those of someone much more vulnerable than himself.

The next flower was a bluebell.  
_'If you’re offering, I am in need of some material so I can make some clothes. My current ones are mostly stitching. If you leave it between Hamlet and Ulysses, I’ll find it. Pat x'_

The fabric scraps were a variety of colours and thicknesses, and The Captain found where the two books leant against each other, forming a little arch between. As he placed them down so Pat could find them, another note caught his eye. It felt a little like a treasure hunt and he smiled as he picked it up.   
_'I’m not ready to speak face to face, but I’ll think about it. I appreciate you respecting my boundaries. Pat x'_

The Captain nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, little fellow. There’s no rush.” He understood how frightening he must be, and knew Pat needed time to get comfortable with him. “If there’s any way I can make the transition easier for you, let me know.”

Life went on. The flowers were pretty. The notes were less frequent but still treasured. The Captain sometimes left little things for Pat between the two books. Perhaps a little food. A tiny origami bird he made in a meeting. A tiny pebble that looked interesting. They were always gone by the time he looked up. He often talked to Pat, just speaking out loud as he worked, telling him little things, perhaps an anecdote, anything to cross his mind.

The day he got a long note, with no flower, was quite a surprising turn.  
_'I’ve been thinking about speaking to you face to face, but it’s too daunting for now. If you’d like to talk to me though, on Sunday at 3, move your chair so your back is against the bookshelf, beside where you leave things for me. If you don’t turn around to look at me, I think I’ll be fine. Being seen is a horror story for me. Hope that’s alright. Pat x'_  
The Captain couldn’t stop grinning as added the note to his collection, feeling truly excited for the first time in a long time.

oOo

3:00pm came and went. The Captain sat with a book, waiting. He glanced at the clock. Almost half three. He didn’t blame Pat for not wanting to talk to him, but he couldn’t help but feel let down. Strange to say, since they’d never spoken properly, but he considered Pat his closest friend. 

“I’m here.”

The Captain’s breath caught in his throat and he slowly sat up straight, closing his book. He spoke very quietly, trying to match the soft volume of the voice by his ear. “I feared you’d not come.” He admitted, turning his head just slightly, not enough to catch a glimpse of Pat. “This isn’t too much for you, is it?”

There was a quiet tap noise that The Captain pinned to be tiny footsteps, and a grunt as Pat supposedly sat down. “A little… I’ve never spoken to a human bean before. It’s a bit exciting, innit?”

The Captain’s eyes crinkled as Pat said ‘human bean’, wondering if that was a colloquialism among his people. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckled quietly. “May I just say, Pat, that your thoughtfulness has been a saving grace for me recently. I so appreciate the time and effort you put in. I feel as though we’re good friends.”

A little giggle made The Captain’s heart swell. “I feel the same way! And don’t worry about the flowers. I’ve been borrowing things from you for months. The least I could do is cheer you up when you’re down.” Pat cooed happily. 

“It’s admirable you’d go to such lengths, even with so much at stake for you.” The Captain probably wouldn’t be able to do the same, and he felt honoured that Pat did for him. “May I ask… would you be comfortable coming to sit on my desk at any point?” He cleared his throat slightly as he adjusted his tie. “Just to keep me company while I’m working?”

There was a moment of silence and The Captain didn’t push Pat for an answer, just being patient. Eventually, he heard a soft hum and Pat spoke quietly. “I don’t know…”

The Captain nodded. “I could use a ration coupon to get some cake, we could have tea.” The prospect was absurd and wholly wonderful.

Pat sounded like he was struggling between his fear and his eagerness to socialise. “I, uh… I…” He fumbled, voice shaking a little. “I have to go.”

Deflating a little, The Captain sighed. “I understand. I can be patient with you, it’s alright.” He waited a moment, then looked back, seeing an empty shelf. He stood up, exhaling as he moved his chair back to his desk.

oOo

A short lunch today. The Captain didn’t feel too much like spending a long time in the company of others. All he could think about was Pat these days. He didn’t know why, but all he could imagine himself doing was holding him, cradling him in his palm while they spoke. He wanted to see him smile. The last time he had held him, he had been terrified. All he wanted was to let him know he was safe.  
As he entered his office, he noticed the flower on his desk and stepped forward. However, beside it was an open note and a pencil lead, abandoned. 

“Oh, have I interrupted you?” He asked softly. He craned his neck, seeing a string still hooked onto the side of the desk. “Do you want me to leave or…?” He stepped a little closer to the desk, looking for Pat surreptitiously. He spotted a flash of colour behind a stack of papers and smiled a little, seeing that his fabric had been put to good use. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Alright, I’ll turn my back for a few minutes to let you leave if you like.” Spinning on his heel, he faced the door, stiff and proper. He hoped beyond hope that Pat would stay. He wanted nothing more than to make sure he was safe.

A scream.

The Captain couldn’t help turning around, and spotted Pat laid on the floor, sprawled out. He’d fallen.  
“Oh, good lord! Are you alright?!” The Captain rushed over in a panic, kneeling down beside the tiny form, hoping beyond hope that he wasn’t injured.

Pat hissed with pain, his head pounding, his ankle throbbing. He was sure he’d been unconscious for at least a few moments, his entire body aching. With a groan, he sat up, holding his ankle. “Please don’t be broken…” He mumbled.

“Can you move your toes?”

Pat froze, his face draining of colour as the whisper blew his hair around his face. He swallowed thickly, beginning to shake. Still, he wiggled his toes, breathing softly. “Y...Yes.” He squeaked. “Does...Does that mean it isn’t broken?”

“It’s a good sign it isn’t. I take it you can’t walk, since you’re still here?”

Moving a trembling hand to his mouth, Pat softly shuddered, sniffling quietly. A hurt leg was a death sentence for a borrower. It meant he couldn’t even walk home, let alone go find food for himself. He tried to stay calm, taking a shaky breath. “I’m dead… I can’t walk, I’m going to starve.”

“I’d sooner starve than let you.” The Captain said gently. “I think I may have to pick you up.”

Pat couldn’t help it. He looked up, immediately wishing he hadn’t. The Captain was staring down at him with concern, everything about him being imposing. He began to violently shake, whimpering softly. 

The Captain frowned a little, reaching out. “Come on. You’ll feel better on the table.” 

As two enormous hands surrounded Pat, he looked up at The Captain with wide, tear filled eyes, seeing how he looked at him. His eyes were creased, a genuine, comforting smile. Pat’s heart fluttered as he was touched, warm fingers pinching around his torso, lifting him very gently into the opposite palm. Fear coursed through his veins, but he couldn’t help but feel that this was where he was meant to be. Cradled gently by the man he’d been pining for these last few years. 

The Captain’s nerves tingled as though he were holding a live wire, and he cleared his throat softly as he sat in his chair, looking at Pat with the smallest smile. “Dear me, you certainly made use of that material. Those clothes look fantastic.”

Pat looked down at himself, placing a hand on his stomach. “Thanks…” He mumbled, swallowing hard to keep his nerves under control. 

Realising he was staring, The Captain moved his hands, very carefully setting Pat down on the desk, clearing his throat. “Yes, well… Let me get you comfortable.” The Captain mumbled, beginning to look through his desk drawers.

Pat watched with a little frown. “N-No, I’m fine! Don’t go to any trouble--”

“Nonsense.” The Captain said firmly. “We need to get your leg elevated.” Taking a clean handkerchief, he folded it into a rectangle and laid it down at the back of his desk, figuring Pat wouldn’t want to be too close to him. He placed a book at one end, making sure it was close enough that Pat could put his leg up on it. “There. Now, may I pick you up again?”

Shaking his head, Pat shakily tried to stand. “I can do it.” He assured. He tried to limp, but as soon as he put weight on his leg, he buckled. A fingertip caught him, and he squeaked softly at the warm skin beneath his hands. Looking up, The Captain seemed concerned, and Pat swallowed as he righted himself. The finger stayed where it was and Pat leant on it, using it to help himself limp over to the makeshift bed, The Captain moving his hand steadily alongside him.

The handkerchief was quite comfortable and Pat laid on it with a soft sigh. He slipped off his shoe with a wince, and let his leg rest on the book, keeping it elevated. “Thank you.” Pat mumbled, keeping his eyes closed so he didn’t get too nervous. 

The Captain felt a little relief, sitting back in his chair. “It’s no trouble.” Resigning himself to pretend as though there wasn’t a tiny man laid on his desk, The Captain picked up some paperwork he had to do, beginning to write.

A few minutes passed silently, until a soft voice broke the silence. “I don’t suppose...I could come home with you?”  
The Captain looked up with surprise and caught Pat’s gaze, one eyebrow quirking.   
Pat swallowed and stammered a little before continuing. “I won’t be able to make it back to my bed like this. Plus, I… I was hoping that…” He went a little pink and took a deep breath. The Captain placed his pen down and laced his fingers to show that he was listening. 

“I was hoping perhaps I could have a hot bath? A cooked meal?” His next words were almost so soft that The Captain couldn’t hear them, only just managing to catch them. “I’d enjoy the company…”

Heart beating hard in his chest, The Captain’s face spread into a grin, which he tried to reign in, and he nodded, wondering why he felt his face flush slightly. “I think that would be fine.” He agreed, clearing his throat.


	3. Water Lily

The pocket was warm, fabric on all sides, a dark isolation. It smelled of him. Clean and proper, detergent and appropriate cologne. Behind Pat, a heart larger than he was thumped away, loud and steady, grounding him. He wasn't afraid. As he shifted, the heartbeat spiked slightly. With a smile, Pat settled, comfortable. He liked this. So close to the man he adored, yet not feeling at all vulnerable. He was safe. 

"Almost there." The voice shook him on all sides, making his ribs rattle. "Shouldn't be too long." 

The warmth, and gentle sway of The Captain's walk, made Pat drowsy, the events of the day catching up to him.   
His nap made the journey seem instantaneous, and he was soon roused by a gentle nudge outside of the pocket. 

"Pat? Are you alright?" The Captain asked, a shaft of light making him blink as the pocket was opened. "I'm taking you out, okay?" 

The intruding thumb and forefinger pinched around Pat's waist and he wrapped his arms around the finger tightly, secure as he was lifted into the light, blinking. 

The living room was modest and looked very comfortable, all muted colours and floral patterns. The Captain set Pat down on the only armchair very carefully, standing up straight.   
“Alright, let me go get changed.” The Captain said as he turned toward a strange box in the corner of the room. He turned one of the buttons on it and Pat started slightly as music began to flow from it. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Once The Captain was out of the room, Pat let himself breathe, finally relaxing. This heart was still fast in his chest, but he didn’t feel sick anymore. The room was huge to him, and he couldn’t help but stare at everything, imagining The Captain living there. He could imagine him sat in his chair with a cup of tea and a good book, enjoying his alone time. He could imagine him watering the potted plants that were soaking up the golden sunlight as the sun slipped below the horizon. He could imagine that he could share it all with him.   
Broken from his thoughts, Pat raised an eyebrow when he spotted a bowl of water in the corner, a glitter of bright orange scales catching his eye. What _was_ that?

The Captain was wearing a crisp shirt when he came back, a lot less formal than what he usually wore, but still smart. He was cautious as he approached Pat, hissing with pain as he knelt by the chair, gritting his teeth. He steadied himself on the chair arm and gently smiled at Pat, eyes crinkled. “How are you feeling?”

Pat swallowed his nerves, nodding a little. “Still in pain.” He shrugged, his hands moving to inspect his swollen ankle with a small frown. “Can I ask… What’s in that bowl?”

The Captain turned to look at it and raised an eyebrow. “My fish? Hm, I suppose you won’t have seen a fish before, will you?” 

Shaking his head, Pat held out his arms, silently asking to be picked up. He still felt anxious, knowing that he was small enough to be crushed by a single wrong move, but he trusted The Captain to be gentle. He hadn’t done anything to hurt him so far. As The Captain reached for him, Pat took a deep breath, the fingertips around his body making him feel secure as he was lifted into his soft palm.

The creature in the bowl was odd. It was as big as Pat and didn’t have legs, just strange wings and a big one at the back. Pat noticed it breathing with big gulps as it lazily moved around the tank, the big wing at the back pushing it forward as it flapped it.  
“What do you think?” The Captain asked as Pat pressed a palm to the cold glass. The creature seemed to notice and moved closer, nudging against Pat’s hand, mouth opening and closing faster.

Laughing softly, Pat moved his hand, watching as the fish followed his movements. “It’s really cute! What’s it called?”

The Captain chuckled softly. “He’s called Harold.” He picked up a small pot with his other hand, popping off the top. “He seems to like you.”

Pat copied Harold’s mouth movements, his attention drawn to the pot as The Captain picked up a pinch of something, sprinkling it onto the surface of the water. A soft squeak of delight came from the borrower as Harold began to eat the flakes, enjoying watching him.  
“Where did you get him from?” Pat asked as The Captain moved to walk to the kitchen, holding Pat close. 

“Oh, he was given to me as a gift.” He set Pat down on the kitchen counter very carefully, then began to look through the cupboards. 

“Who by?” Pat asked, intrigued by all the strange contraptions lining the back edge of the counter, figuring they were all for food preparation. Human beans really did love to go to extreme lengths to make their dishes.

The Captain pulled a teacup from the cupboard, picking up a bottle and squeezing a single drop of soap into it. “A friend. We were in the army together.” He ran some warm water into the cup, the soap creating fluffy suds on the surface. “He’s not around anymore. Killed in action.” 

He was so matter-of-fact about it that Pat felt the hair on his arms raise, frowning as he noticed the crease in The Captain’s brow, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have pried.”

The Captain shook his head. “You weren’t to know.” He assured him softly as he set the teacup down. “Now, would you like to have your bath in the living room while I make something to eat? Or would you prefer me in earshot?”

Pat loved the idea of a hot bath, having only had cold baths before. "I would like you to hear me in case I need you."

Nodding, The Captain craned his neck as he looked for something, pulling out a large book. He opened it and stood it up in the corner as a modesty screen, moving the teacup behind it. Pat was already unbuttoning his shirt when The Captain picked him up, not noticing the pink dusting on his cheeks or the way he cleared his throat.

"Would you hold your hand beside the cup so I can climb in?" Pat asked, looking up at The Captain. 

"Well, I, uh…" A throat clear interrupted his sentence. "I suppose so, yes."

The Captain didn't know how he felt, his whole body hot as he tried not to think about it. He could feel Pat undressing in his palm, soon feeling him slip into the cup, leaving his clothes in The Captain's hand. He lifted them and looked at the book for a moment, feeling a strange compulsion. Indulging himself, he raised the tiny clothes to his nose, inhaling. Pat smelled very natural, the sweet of various flowers, the tang of berry juice, the freshness of pine and the mellow tones of grass. He could tell Pat loved the outdoors just by his scent. 

A wave of guilt washed over him and he cleared his throat, folding his clothes as best he could. He could sense himself having _those_ feelings again and grit his teeth as he began to look for something to cook for dinner. He felt wrong. Pat may have been the first person to actually care about him in a long time, but he wasn't there for The Captain to letch at. He was there because he was hurt and vulnerable. The fact that he was even developing those feelings was borderline perverse. Even if Pat wasn't a man, the size disparity gave him a lot more power over him than was fair. Being more than friends, even _thinking_ about being more than friends, was out of the question. 

Pat sighed softly as he sank deeper into the warm water, feeling his muscles relax, the throb of his ankle dulled by the heat. The fact that he was naked, and that the object of his affections was barely two meters away, made his heart flutter, a deep warmth in his belly making him blush. He took a breath and sank completely into the water, his fingers scrubbing at his scalp as he washed his hair. Many a time he'd imagined the love confession he'd rehearsed in his head ever since he'd realised his feelings. Some of his imagined outcomes were good, smiles and kisses and warm, safe hands. Other times, he imagined being dashed against the ground for even daring to think anything like that.   
He knew what The Captain would think, however. Pat was far too insignificant to even matter to him. He wasn't big enough to meet his needs, be they emotional or physical. He couldn't cook him a meal, or massage his back, or even wrap his arms around him. The Captain would scoff, liken him to a bug, and that would be that.   
No, best to keep his emotions to himself. 

Pat suddenly flailed in the water when his lungs began to burn, kicking to the surface, having completely forgotten he needed to breathe. He gasped and coughed as he surfaced, panting a little as he listened to the clatter of The Captain cooking. As he floated in the hot water, he let himself imagine that he was loved, a lump developing in his throat as The Captain began to whistle along with the radio, unaware that he was subconsciously trying to cover up the exact same line of thought that Pat was holding so dear to himself.


End file.
